


Puzzle Pieces

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Gen, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Taking a different approach to the trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: Follow up to "Visiting Hours". There are things about their encounter with the bandits that just don't add up for Arthur, and he's determined to make sense of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot--a _lot_ \--of magic reveal fics out there, where Merlin does something dramatic to give himself away and Arthur is forced to deal. I wanted to explore what would happen if Arthur took the initiative and figured things out on his own, instead.

Arthur was seated at his desk, staring at a stack of reports, but his mind was entirely elsewhere. He'd spent the past several days cooped up in his chambers while his leg healed, and had had nothing better to do than think, and catch up on reports. Now that he was up and moving, more or less, Arthur had really expected to be able to distract himself with the day-to-day work of running a kingdom, but it wasn't working at all.

Instead, he was still caught up in memories of his captivity with Merlin. He still had questions about what had happened; there were still things that didn't add up.

 

_"They think I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said finally, reluctantly. His breath hitched every couple of words. "A specific sorcerer, someone they've been looking for. They think if they hurt me enough, I'll use magic to get out of it and prove them right."_

_"But you're not a sorcerer," said Arthur._

_Merlin shifted uncomfortably, and Arthur helped him settle again. "As I said. It doesn't matter."_

 

It made sense that they wouldn't torment Arthur, at least; he was recognizable, although even if they hadn't known he was the prince of Camelot, his armor and the red cloak were a bit of a giveaway that he was at least a knight. But why assume a sorcerer was keeping company with a knight of Camelot?

And then there was something else; while they were returning to Camelot, Merlin had been delirious, or possibly just talking in his sleep.

 

_"Stop," he murmured, leaned up against Arthur beside the campfire. The swelling around his eyes had finally started to go down to the point where he could open them, but they were closed in sleep right now._

_"Merlin?" The other knights were asleep as well, except for Leon on watch; Arthur kept his voice down._

_"Stop," he said, tossing his head fretfully. Arthur could smell the fever-sweat on him. "Stop calling me Emrys."_

_Arthur squeezed his shoulder gently, not wanting to jostle him awake. "Merlin. Merlin, it's all right. You're dreaming."_

_"_ _…Arthur?" His servant stirred, lifting his head, and Arthur coaxed him back down._

_"You were dreaming, Merlin. It's all right. Go back to sleep."_

 

Now, back at the palace, he couldn't stop wondering, over and over: Who was Emrys?

* * *

 

"He's some kind of sorcerer, obviously," he was saying to Leon, hours later. "But why assume Merlin was he? And for God's sake, why assume a sorcerer would travel anywhere near Camelot?"

"Your father has never quite been able to eradicate all sorcery, you know that," offered Leon. "Perhaps this Emrys is someone who has managed to avoid detection so far."

Arthur nodded and picked at his dinner. It made sense enough, he supposed. "And Merlin is clearly not a knight or other type of warrior."

"It would be more logical to assume he were the sorcerer out of anyone in our party that day," Leon agreed.

"That still begs the question of why they would have thought we would have a sorcerer with us in the first place. I mean, it's not as if we were escorting a prisoner, which is the only scenario I can think of that would put us anywhere near someone with magic without us all trying to kill one another."

"Heh." Leon reached for his goblet. "A fair point, sire." After a thoughtful sip, he added, "Do you think Merlin might remember more, now that he's recovering?"

"I may ask him, but I hate to make him relive any of it. And it's not as if this were important to Camelot's future."

"Yet you've not been able to let go of the question for days."

Arthur had to acknowledge the point. "There's just something about it… logically, I know, it's foolish. As I said, the answers probably do not matter at all, and yet… yet, I feel as though they do. And they certainly matter to me. I don't know why, but they do."

"Perhaps because they concern Merlin, and you care for him, sire?"

He sighed heavily; there was no use in denying that Merlin meant far more to Arthur than his station should have dictated. "Perhaps."

It took him a long time to fall asleep that night, staring at his bed canopy and turning the question over in his mind.

Who was Emrys?

* * *

 

The corridor outside Gaius's chamber was bustling with visitors for Merlin, just as it had been three days ago, when Arthur had first come down; fortunately the number of people didn't seem quite as large now as it had been. Arthur thought he recognized some of the faces this time, servants around the palace or possibly repeat visitors. He also did not fail to notice the bundles and packages people carried, the posies of flowers and loaves of bread; he shook his head with a wry smile as he passed them to open Gaius's door.

"Ah, Your Highness," said the physician. "Here to see Merlin, are you?"

"Not this time," he replied, sitting down at the work table and smiling again at the gifts still piled there. Gaius had resorted to placing things in neat stacks alongside the table on the floor, and the space was still nearly overflowing. "I'll have to arrange for larger chambers for Merlin, or his own personal storeroom, if this keeps up."

"Well, the excitement does seem to be dying down," said Gaius. "We've received fewer than half as many gifts today as we have over the past several. I've sent some of the things on to the kitchens so they could be put to use before they spoiled."

"He deserves them," said Arthur. "He's a terrible manservant, but…"

Gaius chuckled. "Indeed, sire. He is quite special to me, as I am sure you are aware." He cleared a spot on the bench and sat down with a sigh. "But you said you were not here to see him."

"Well, not yet at least, no." Arthur sobered, toying with the edge of a folded blanket as he thought. "I wanted to ask you a question… about sorcery. Or about…" He sighed.

"Something troubles you."

"It does." He looked up to see Gaius frowning at him, almost worried if Arthur were to guess. "Merlin told me that the bandits who captured us thought he was a sorcerer. They were trying to make him prove it, by hurting him so that he would use magic to escape." Gaius inhaled sharply, and Arthur continued, "Then later, in his sleep, Merlin spoke a name. Emrys."

Gaius's eyes widened, and he almost seemed to pale a little, if that were possible. "What is your question, then, sire?"

"I have many questions," Arthur scoffed a little, and dragged his hands through his hair. "It doesn't make sense! Why assume a _sorcerer_ would be traveling with _knights of Camelot_? They have to have known about the ban. What would make them believe that I would have a sorcerer as an ally—how would that even enter their minds? I think the answer to that question must have something to do with whoever this Emrys person is, but I don't know where to even begin looking for a sorcerer who would be known by name and whom other people would be looking for as well. Why are they looking for him? Should I be? Is he dangerous? I don't know anything, and it's immensely frustrating."

Gaius relaxed, the indulgent smile on his face one that Arthur had seen countless times growing up. It was a smile that suggested that everything would be all right. "Well, I don't know very much, of course, but I have heard the name Emrys before," he said. "He's a legendary figure, such that most people do not believe he even exists."

"But these bandits did. And they were willing to torture Merlin to prove he was him."

Gaius nodded. "I can tell you that, if I remember correctly, Emrys was prophesied to be an ally to the king of Camelot—"

"A sorcerer as Camelot's ally. That's what I can't get past."

"Remember that Camelot has stood for generations, and the ban on magic has only been in place during your lifetime, sire. Prophecies are generally far older than that."

Arthur took that in, frowning. "But the power corrupts people who use it. Even if they meant well to start with."

The old physician raised his eyebrow in an expression of supreme skepticism. "Does it?"

And it was true that Arthur had his doubts about that, but he was not quite prepared to face them just yet. "You said Emrys is mentioned in prophecies?"

"Oh yes, several, as I recall. Though I'm afraid I'm not familiar with more than what I've already told you. He is an ally to one of the kings of Camelot, by his side always, and they work together to bring about a golden age of peace and prosperity, uniting all of Albion and winning freedom for all peoples."

Arthur hadn't been expecting that. "Sounds hopeful, at least."

"Indeed, sire."

A pair of boys from the lower town came out of Merlin's room just then, elbowing each other and snickering. Arthur waited while they left, never noticing him, and while the next visitor waiting outside came in. She was tiny and very old, and while her curtsey was a little stiff, from the look on her face it was at least heartfelt.

"Highness. Master Gaius."

"Astrid," said Gaius in surprise. "I didn't expect to see you, madam; it's a long walk from your home."

"Oh, nonsense. I had Gerald bring me most of the way. As if I were going to leave your apprentice to recover without visiting. Such a nice boy."

"He is, at that," said Gaius. "Come, let me help you up the steps to his room. Er, by your leave, sire."

"Of course." Arthur waved them off, still thinking. Freedom for all peoples. That probably meant something like lifting the ban on sorcery, given that Emrys was supposed to be an ally. Too bad that wouldn't happen as long as Uther lived.

Did Arthur want it to happen during his reign?

Gaius came back, shaking his head and chuckling. "That boy has more grandmothers looking after him and trying to feed him than anyone I've ever met."

"Probably because he's so scrawny," said Arthur, and smiled as Gaius chuckled again.

"Astrid did, in fact, pinch Merlin's cheek and tell him he was too thin."

Arthur hid a grin. He would never let Merlin live this down; still, he had something more important to focus on at the moment. "If I wanted to learn more about these prophecies. Where would you suggest I go?"

Gaius blinked, thought about it for a moment, and rubbed at his chin. "Well, I suppose there is the chance that something is written in the royal archives," he said. "Though of course Uther burned a great many books on magic, or anything that looked like it might be sympathetic toward magic and magic users. Still, that might be a place to start."

The prince nodded, thinking it over. "And if Geoffrey doesn't find anything?"

"Er. Well."

Arthur knew that look. Gaius could be remarkably cagey when he wanted to be. "Gaius."

"I am sure I wouldn't—"

" _Gaius_ ," he warned.

The old man sighed heavily. "You won't like it, sire."

"I don't expect to like all the answers I get while I investigate this little puzzle, but I still need to hear them."

Gaius gave a little half-bow, still seated at the table. "It's only that… well, when it comes to prophecies, no one keeps them better than the druids. If nothing comes of your search in the royal archives, you may wish to consult them."

He'd been right. Arthur didn't like it.

* * *

 

"Has your search borne any fruit?"

"Oh. Sire. Well, it's, you see…"

"Out with it, please, Geoffrey. I know my father wouldn't approve of the research I'm asking you to perform for me, but I am not him. I'm not going to punish you for doing as I asked."

"Well… as you say, His Majesty did command a number of texts destroyed around the time of your birth. And I do recall there being some scrolls with what _may_ have been prophetic verses, or, well, _regarded_ as prophetic…" The librarian trailed off at the expression on Arthur's face. "Well. There was one copy which your father, His Majesty, er, _missed_."

"Missed."

"Indeed, sire. It was simply overlooked—I would not presume to have _hidden_ it, or any such treasonous thing! But, er, well, here it is." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a ragged-looking volume, not very large, whose cover was cracked and dulled with age. "It's not in very good condition, I'm afraid, but you can see why it might have been overlooked in His Majesty's initial quest to, er, eradicate such things."

Arthur supposed that made sense. "Thank you, Geoffrey," he said. "I'll be certain to return this when I am finished with it."

"Please do be careful, Your Highness. Books of this age can be quite fragile."

"Of course."

* * *

 

But the book itself had little to say that seemed to be of any value: _In the reign of the fork-bearded king will come a great flood, damaging the crops and killing many cattle. It will come to pass that_ _…_

Arthur hardly saw how that would be relevant. And a "fork-bearded king" didn't exactly narrow down the possibilities as to when this flood was supposed to take place.

_Hark! The queen layeth her eyes upon the unicorn in the field, and a hunt shall be gathered in the same season which shall_ _…_

Arthur already had a pretty good idea of what happened when someone killed a unicorn. Unfortunately.

_When the snows are at their deepest upon the fields of Caerleon, the son of two fathers will battle with his brother who is not his brother, and he shall fall from the path of rainbows_ _…_

What was that even supposed to mean?

Arthur rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He'd been at this for hours, and all he had to show for it was a headache, dry eyes, and a lot of wasted lamp oil. He'd finally taken just to skimming the pages rather than reading them in depth, looking for any hint of "Emrys" or "allies" or… or anything that jumped out and looked interesting. He was lettered enough, and took satisfaction from managing the records and reports that crossed his desk, but it wasn't his favorite pastime. Arthur simply wasn't a bookish sort; never had been.

He'd continue this tomorrow.

* * *

 

He was off his stride at training the next day, unable to really get his thoughts focused where they needed to be. Merlin was still abed, in no shape to be hauling Arthur's armor and weapons all over the place. And of course, every time Arthur looked over and didn't see his servant watching, his mind jumped to their captivity, and sorcery, and Emrys, and prophecies.

Gwaine laughed in triumph when he managed to get past Arthur's guard and land a shot to his head that left him flat on his back on the grass. "I can't believe you didn't see that coming!" he crowed, flipping the visor back on his helmet. He reached a hand down to hoist Arthur to his feet, then frowned a little. "Actually, why _didn't_ you see that coming? You've blocked that shot a hundred times."

"Distracted by other things, I guess." They moved off the field to where the buckets of cold, clear water waited for the knights to quench their thirst.

"Merlin, I'd wager." Gwaine dipped the first ladle and drank greedily, then dipped another and poured it over his head. "It's been a couple of days since I've visited. How does he fare?"

"Better every day, but—well, you know. Broken ribs take time to mend."

"Aye, I've cracked my share. Not the most fun way to spend a few weeks. But don't worry, Merlin will be back on his feet before you know it."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not actually worried about him. He's in Gaius's capable hands. He'll be fine."

"Then if you're not worried about him, what has you so distracted that I'm landing easy shots on you like that?"

The prince dipped another ladle into the bucket, collecting his thoughts. Come to think of it, Gwaine might be a good person to ask. "Do you think sorcery is evil?"

Gwaine did a double-take, choking on his drink. "Do I what?"

Arthur frowned. "You heard me just fine." As Gwaine continued to stare at him, he rolled his eyes and added, "You've traveled a fair bit. You're not originally from Camelot. You have… a different perspective than the one I was brought up with."

"Ah. Well then." Gwaine tossed wet hair out of his eyes. "The short answer is, no, I don't think sorcery is just automatically evil. The longer answer requires a pint or two and a bit more privacy than this. I'm not going to have a casual conversation with you where your father's friends might overhear and have my head for being a sympathizer or whatnot."

Well, Arthur couldn't fault him for that. "Fair enough. Tonight?"

"Works for me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur pursues a few clues, and finds a few answers, which raise a few more questions.

"This is your idea of private?" Gwaine had taken Arthur to a tavern rather than anywhere in the palace, which Arthur probably ought to have expected, except that they were barely there five minutes before Percival and Elyan came and joined them at their table.

"So you want to know more about sorcery," Elyan had said, prompting Arthur's glare.

"Don't look at me like that, Princess, you're the one who wanted an outside perspective." Gwaine winked at the barmaid as she set their mugs down. "Percival isn't from Camelot, same as me. Elyan has traveled all over. You want perspectives other than what your father taught you, we three are your best options."

Arthur pressed his lips together, annoyed, mainly because he couldn't argue the point. "All right, fine. My father says that magic is inherently evil and that everyone who practices it is wicked and seeks only to harm others. I've had cause to doubt that, but I'm not at all sure that it doesn't have some… corrupting influence. That even if someone means well, the magic bends them, stains their soul in some way. _Makes_ them wicked, even if they didn't start out that way."

"False," said Percival, as the others nodded. "All of it." He looked a little sheepish as he added, "Sorry, sire."

"I've only ever seen magic used for evil."

"Well, sure, mate," said Gwaine, "the king has banned it under penalty of death, and the only people who will be brave enough to use it where you could see it are the ones who don't care if they get caught. Who'd be happy to take you down with them. Your average person with magic would rather keep themselves out of sight, and survive."

"There are also the people who are desperate after what the Purge has done to them and their families," said Elyan quietly. "Innocent people have died, sire; you know that." He only glanced up for a moment before going back to staring at his mug, and Arthur remembered his father, executed for unknowingly aiding a sorcerer. "They're grieving, or angry, and they want revenge. They want justice for what was done."

"Do you?" The words escaped before Arthur could rethink them.

Elyan looked up again, his face blank. "What good would it do?"

The prince sighed and took a drink. "All right," he said, "how do you explain Morgana? We were raised as siblings. She was kind, compassionate. She chose to study magic, and—"

"Have you considered that maybe she didn't choose it?" asked Gwaine.

"What?" Arthur was taken by surprise and could only blink for a moment. "Wha—no, that's not how it works. People choose to study magic and then it gets inside them…" He trailed off, seeing the way Gwaine and Percival were both shaking their heads.

"I've known children with magic," said Percival. "Not many, but some."

"Druids—"

"Not just druids," he said gently. "Regular people. Kids, adolescents. Some people are like what you say, but the rest… they don't choose it. They just… have it. It comes on unexpected, same as suddenly getting tall and growing a beard." Percival and the others smiled at the image. "And then they study it later, sure, but it's not because they're after power. It's because they need to get it under control. Like being gifted a horse that you need to tame."

"So it's still dangerous," pressed Arthur. "If it needs to be brought under control, as you say."

Percival just shrugged. "That I don't know."

"All I'm saying is, maybe Morgana had it, and didn't know it at first," reasoned Gwaine. "And then one day it comes on, like Percy said, and she discovers she has it. Here, in Camelot, under Uther's nose. Can you imagine waking up one day with that power at your fingertips, no idea how to use it, and a father who's the sort who might well burn even his own daughter if he found out she had it?"

Arthur grimaced, and didn't answer for a long moment. He didn't want to think about this. Didn't want to consider the possibility that there was more he could have done to prevent Morgana from becoming who she eventually became. If Gwaine were right, if Morgana had lived in fear…

But he'd come here for answers, and his knights were giving them to him. He owed it to them to think things through. Morgana, frightened and alone, faced with the impenetrable wall of Uther's hate; Arthur wasn't sure if he would have been strong enough to withstand it. It only made sense that Morgana couldn't, or that when Morgause had appeared and offered her solace, she had taken it with both hands, heedless of the consequences.

"So what can magic be used for that _isn't_ destructive?" he asked tiredly.

"In my experience?" asked Gwaine. "Crops and socks."

Elyan was surprised into a laugh, and Percival grinned, nodding. Arthur just stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Crops. And… socks?"

"Most people use it for things like helping the crops grow. Taking care of their livestock."

"I saw a woman heal a goat once," said Percival.

The expression on Arthur's face did not change. "A goat."

"I knew a man who was a baker," put in Elyan. "Lame in one leg. He used sorcery to bring things to him in his shop that were out of reach, so he wouldn't have to get up and move about. Just…" He held up a hand in the gesture they had all seen before. "Bag of flour on the shelf over there? Ffft! Now it's in his hand, and he's getting ready to bake bread."

While Arthur was still trying to wrap his head around that, Gwaine went on, "I had a pair of socks once that were enchanted—"

"Oh, _come_ on, enchanted _socks?!_ " Gwaine had to be having him on.

"They were! Spelled so they would always stay warm and dry. You could walk through freezing mud, no boots on, and these things kept your feet as comfortable as on a spring day in the soft grass." He took a satisfied swig of his ale.

"Enchanted socks."

"What happened to them?" asked Percival.

"Lost them in a game of knucklebones," shrugged Gwaine, and grinned when the other two knights laughed. "I still miss them, when we go out on winter patrol. They were good socks."

Of _course_ there would be no proof of Gwaine's outlandish tale. "All right, so you're telling me magic is just a tool, not necessarily a weapon. Or else you're like Percival here, and telling me it's a beast that needs to be _tamed_ so it doesn't get out of hand." Which he found far more likely.

"Could always ask the druids about that part," said Elyan, and Arthur scowled. "What? They'd know more than anyone else, sire, and you know they're peaceful."

"I know. It's just that Gaius suggested the same thing, and I was hoping to avoid it." Uther wasn't really in a position to forbid Arthur from going, but it still felt like a betrayal. On the other hand, it felt like a betrayal to even consider half of what he was thinking about. It technically was a betrayal even to be having this conversation.

"So here's a question," Gwaine was saying. "What's all this really about?" He and Percival shared a look, and Elyan raised an eyebrow as he ducked into his drink.

"Merlin," said Percival.

"No," protested Arthur. "Or… yes, but not directly."

They all had heard the story from Arthur himself when they'd come to rescue him and Merlin. They knew the bandits had believed Merlin to be a sorcerer, and that that was why he'd been tortured.

"You're not suspecting Merlin of being a sorcerer, are you?" asked Elyan, and Arthur shook his head.

"Or questioning his loyalty?" pressed Gwaine with narrowed eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, the man drank poison for me once. Part of his _idiocy_ is just how loyal he is, against all good sense." He scowled again at the memory. "Case in point: he stayed by me this last time after I was wounded, when he could have run and saved his own skin and avoided the entire—" He cut himself off and took a long pull from his mug.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, sire," said Elyan.

Arthur sighed. "I don't, not really. If they were so convinced he was a sorcerer, it probably wouldn't have mattered if he'd stayed with me or not."

"We'll never know now," said Gwaine, and that was true enough.

"One last question." Arthur pulled a few coins from his purse and tapped them against the table's surface. "Have any of you ever heard of… _famous_ sorcerers? People who would be known by name, far and wide?"

Elyan snorted. "Other than Morgana, you mean?"

"Yes."

Two of them shrugged and shook their heads. Percival rubbed at his chin. "Not _far and wide_ , but sometimes healers will get a reputation, if they're any good."

"No one by the name of Emrys?"

"Hm. Doesn't ring a bell, sorry."

"Why?" Gwaine was still studying him, his head tilted.

Arthur just shook his head. "It's not important." He dropped the coins onto the table and stood. "But I might be sending you out to look for druids in the next few days or so. I'll be going myself once Gaius says I can ride again."

They said their goodbyes, and Arthur left, but Gwaine caught up to him a little ways from the pub. "Who's Emrys," he asked, "and what's this really about?"

"I don't know who Emrys is, and that's exactly what this is about," Arthur replied. "Supposedly an ally of one of the kings of Camelot."

" _One_ of?"

"No one is even sure if he exists, from what I've been able to tell," said Arthur. "There are supposed to be prophecies, about him and _a_ king, but I don't know which one."

"So why look for him now?"

Arthur's sigh gusted a cloud of vapor in front of him in the evening chill. "I think those bandits thought that Merlin was Emrys. Something Merlin said in his sleep, on our way back to Camelot."

"And if this Emrys is real?" asked Gwaine. "What would you do if you found him?"

They walked a few more steps in silence before Arthur said, "I don't know."

* * *

 

_Behold, I have dreamt of Emrys, and of the Once and Future King, and the golden future of Albion. Two men, brothers in all but blood, though they do not meet until they are nearly grown men. Two sides of one coin, spinning in light and shadow, back to back they stand against all foes, inseparable. The greatest king ever to live, and the greatest sorcerer of this or any age, allied as one heart, with one goal: peace for Albion, and freedom for her people. Freedom from war, freedom from bondage, freedom from hatred, freedom from fear. Praise Emrys! Praise the Once and Future King!_

 

That was the only relevant-seeming passage that Arthur had been able to find in the entire book. Again, it at least seemed promising, but then it was written long before the Purge, and try as he might, Arthur still could not wrap his head around the idea of a sorcerer being an ally to any Pendragon. If Merlin were supposed to be Emrys, then that meant…

What _did_ it mean?

Emrys would be an ally to the king. Specifically, to someone called the Once and Future King, which was its own puzzle. The idea of a sorcerer being allied to Uther was ludicrous, so Arthur thought he could dismiss that; besides, Merlin spent all his time with Arthur and everyone knew it.

So that would mean Arthur was the king spoken of in this prophecy. Or he would be. Or the bandits _thought_ he would be.

And of course it would mean that Merlin was a sorcerer, but Arthur was trying not to think about that.

He was getting another headache.

* * *

 

"Of course, sire, I have just the thing," said Gaius, reaching up onto a shelf to pull down a jar filled with what looked like shaved tree bark. He shook some of it out onto a cloth and tied the bundle up with a practiced motion. "Just brew a spoonful of this into a bitter tea and drink it, and your headache will ease in about twenty minutes. Mind you drink it all, of course. You may sweeten it with honey if necessary, and it will not lose its efficacy."

"Thank you, Gaius. How is Merlin?"

"A bit bored by now, as I am sure you can imagine. But much better, apart from his ribs. You may visit him if you like."

So Arthur took the steps up to Merlin's room and pushed the door open.

"Arthur!" Merlin grinned in such delight when he saw who it was that the prince had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair. Honestly, when did his servant turn into such a puppy?

"Any happier to see me and your tail would be wagging," said Arthur, and Merlin rolled his eyes. "Is that one of my shirts?"

"Castoff," said Merlin, looking down at the bundle of fabric on his lap. His hands were still bandaged, though not as heavily, and he was holding a needle and thread skillfully enough. There was a basket of laundry sitting on one side of the bed and several spools of thread in various colors on his bedside table. "You go through them rather quickly, what with getting bashed about in battle so often. A quick patch, or a mend of a tear, and they're ready for someone else to wear for a while."

"I see." He hadn't really thought about it before, but then Gwen would tell him there was a lot he hadn't thought about.

Like druids, and prophecy, and betraying the beliefs his father had spent a lifetime instilling in him.

"Something wrong?" Arthur blinked back to himself to see Merlin looking at him with concern.

"Oh, uh. It's nothing. Just a puzzle I'm trying to work out."

"Don't hurt yourself, sire," said Merlin, and now the concern on his face was entirely fake.

" _Thank_ you, Merlin. Your worry is _touching_. _Truly_."

Merlin grinned again, and shifted against his pillows. "Maybe it's something I can help with?"

Arthur rubbed at his temples. "Not unless you know anything about sorcery." Merlin froze stiff, and Arthur was quick to reassure him. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. Those bandits… what they did to you…"

"Is that what this is about?" Merlin sagged in relief.

"They hurt you because they thought you were a sorcerer, but that just—I've been trying to make sense of it for days now, and it just doesn't. They called you Emrys—"

"How did you know that?"

Arthur looked at Merlin, wondering why it would matter. "You talked in your sleep, on the way back home."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I've been doing some reading, and this legendary Emrys is supposed to be an ally to the king of Camelot, and that makes even less sense." He rubbed at his temples again, his headache beginning to renew its pounding. "I should know better than to pay any attention to bloody prophecies, anyway."

"Prophecies?"

Arthur shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Merlin. They're probably meaningless. I'm keeping myself awake over nothing."

"If it's important to you, it might not be nothing," said Merlin, and this was why Arthur missed him most. Not for the appalling job he did of cleaning his chambers, nor the insults he thought were clever, but for his ability to bounce ideas with Arthur, better than anyone else he'd met. "What is it that actually concerns you?"

"This Emrys person is supposed to be—according to the _one_ snippet of prophecy I could find—an ally to the king of Camelot. Someone they call the 'Once and Future King', whatever that means. All right, fine. But. I don't see why these bandits would have thought Emrys would be alive in our time, which they must have, given that they thought you were he. And I don't see why a sorcerer would ally himself with anyone in Camelot, given the ban."

"Perhaps he is your ally in secret," said Merlin.

Arthur scoffed. "He'd have to be, if he wanted to keep his head."

"How would you feel about that?" Merlin asked, tilting his head. "If you had a close ally, a sorcerer, protecting you in secret?"

"Protecting me?"

"Have you actually kept track of how many times your life has been in danger, just since I've met you?"

"I've been trained with the sword since I could walk, Merlin, I don't need bloody _protecting_."

"Swords aren't much use against magical plagues, Arthur," said Merlin. "Or poison. Or a sorcerer throwing you off a cliff. Or a magical creature that can only be defeated with magic. Or—"

"All right, all right, I get it. Shut up."

"I'm only saying," Merlin went on (and Arthur let him because his tone gentled), "if there _were_ a sorcerer. If Emrys existed, and was your friend—"

" _Ally_ , Merlin, don't be such a girl."

"Ally, then. If Emrys were protecting you, in secret—because it would have to be in secret—what would you do?"

"I don't know. It'd be only fair to thank him, I suppose."

"But would you?" Merlin started to lean forward, only to wince and press a hand to his ribs. "Whoever this person is, they've been keeping their identity a secret from you. Possibly lying to you. Possibly for years."

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, then paused. "I don't know," he admitted. "You're assuming I would already know him."

"He'd have to be close to you in order to protect you," reasoned Merlin. He glanced down at the mending in his lap. "I'd imagine you would at least have spoken to him once or twice."

"Someone I know lying to me, carrying out deeds of sorcery in secret, and _not_ trying to kill me would likely be so novel I wouldn't know how to handle it," said Arthur, perhaps a little bitterly.

"Ow. Laughing still hurts."

It was a good point, though. "I probably wouldn't believe they were really my fr—ally, if I ever found out. Too many people _have_ tried to kill me. Or steal the throne. Or murder my father. Or…" He stopped, and sighed. "God, this is depressing. An ally I wouldn't be able to recognize."

"Someone you might trust now, and wouldn't be able to trust after they revealed themselves." Merlin nodded. "Might be another reason they would keep the secret. Maybe they've wanted to tell you all along, but couldn't, first because of the ban and then because they didn't want to have you question their friendship."

Merlin was looking at him oddly, his expression not quite readable, and Arthur raised one eyebrow. "All of this assumes that Emrys actually exists, of course," he said, and Merlin blinked.

"Ah. Yes. Of course."

Arthur had to chuckle at how disappointed Merlin looked. "You have _such_ an imagination sometimes. Look at you, getting maudlin over someone who probably isn't even real."

Disappointment gave way to indignation. "You're the one who—and what about—well, those bandits sure seemed to think he was real!"

Arthur grimaced at the reminder. He'd been the one to watch helplessly while it happened, but Merlin as the one who'd actually had to suffer through their mistreatment. "Yes, well, they also seemed to think you were, what did the prophecy say, the greatest sorcerer ever to live, or something like that. I think we can discount their opinions, if you don't mind." He stood and stretched. "I'd meant to ask if you remembered anything else, but I suppose it doesn't matter."

"…I suppose not," said Merlin.

* * *

 

Later that night, though, Arthur found he still couldn't let it go. He'd been thinking in terms of a secret sorcerer, living and practicing magic in Camelot; then, the prophecy had led him to believe he and the sorcerer—assuming Arthur really was the king they were talking about—had something of a political alliance, perhaps. It was Merlin, of course, who had to turn his thoughts to the notion of the sorcerer being a friend.

_I'd imagine you would at least have spoken to him once or twice._

And now, damn Merlin anyway, Arthur was lying here awake, staring at his canopy, trying to guess if anyone in his acquaintance might be trying to hide magic, right under his nose.

Merlin did raise a good question, though: how would he react to something like that? Someone like Gwaine, or Leon, spending their days by his side and practicing magic in secret, looking out for him, working to bring about a golden age for Camelot?

Someone pretending not to be a sorcerer. Pretending to be someone they were not, in order to be close to Arthur and have anything like a friendship. Lying, as Merlin had said, possibly for years.

Could he trust someone who would do that? On the other hand, could he blame them for not spilling their secret?

He growled and turned over, punching his pillow. Did Emrys even exist in the first place, or was he driving himself mad for nothing?

* * *

 

The days passed. Arthur copied the snippet of prophecy he had found and returned the book to Geoffrey. Quietly, he sent Elyan and Percival out to find any rumor of nearby druid camps. He visited Merlin and gave him no mercy whatsoever on the subject of little old ladies trying to fatten him up.

His leg healed, and Gaius finally gave him permission to ride horses again.

He was in the middle of practice one afternoon when Elyan strode up, still dressed for patrol and with mud on his boots. Arthur called a break and allowed the other knight to pull him aside.

"You've heard something?" he asked.

"Better, sire. I've found a wandering band. Small, but they were willing to hear me out, _and_ they're willing to speak with you. They said if they didn't have the answers you sought, they might even direct you to a larger camp where some of their elders might be."

Arthur's heart actually skipped a beat, and he took a deep breath to hide his excitement. "Well done," he said, and clapped Elyan on the shoulder. "How much time do we have before they move on?"

"Not long. They're about a day and a half away, and they said they would wait three days before it wasn't safe anymore."

Arthur nodded; it was only understandable. "Get some rest. We'll leave at dawn."

"Sire."

That night, he went to visit Merlin again, and walked in on him sitting with his foot in Gaius's lap as the older man unwound the bandages.

"Hullo, Arthur." Trust Merlin not to stand on ceremony.

"Merlin. Gaius."

"I'm just finishing up here, sire," Gaius was saying, but Arthur waved him off.

"No rush." Merlin's other foot was already bare, and Arthur saw that the blisters were completely gone. "I see you've healed nicely."

"I'm about halfway there, yes." He held up his hands, which were still wrapped. "Gaius says I'll need to be careful, that the new skin will take time to toughen up."

"Oh, just like the rest of you, then."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Your wit knows no bounds, sire."

"Anyway, I can't stay long. I wanted to let you know I'll be riding out tomorrow and might be gone for a few days."

"Riding out? What, you're back on patrol already?"

"Not quite. I'll be speaking to some druids about this whole Emrys nonsense." Gaius turned around in his seat to give Arthur one of his significant looks, while Merlin's eyes grew wide.

"The druids? Take me with you!"

"Absolutely not," said Gaius quickly, spinning back to glare at Merlin. "Your ribs are in no condition for you to be on horseback. Not for a few more weeks at the very least."

"But, Gaius—"

"I said 'absolutely not', and I _meant_ it, Merlin. You are staying right here until you have healed properly."

Merlin looked positively mutinous. Arthur knew that look; it was the one that said he would be _having words_ with someone once they had a moment of privacy. Arthur was actually a little relieved that it was directed at Gaius and not him. Not that he was required to listen to Merlin's blathering, but when his servant was in a snit he made sure Arthur knew it.

He made his escape before the shouting could start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur visits the druids, and the final pieces slot into place.

The druids were _strange_. Arthur could see where his father might have been unnerved enough by them to persecute them even without magic. They moved all as one unit, sometimes, like a flock of birds or school of fish. And they rarely spoke, yet everyone seemed to know what everyone else was doing. He caught them more than once approaching one another, going about their business together as if their movements were choreographed, and then parting without exchanging a word.

He, Elyan, and Percival dismounted and walked their horses the rest of the way into camp. Everyone stared at him, and no one spoke.

"We've come with peaceable intentions," said the prince. "I am Arthur Pendragon. My knight told me you were willing to speak with me."

"We know who you are, Arthur Pendragon," said one finally, a woman with tattoos on her face and whose eyes seemed to see into Arthur's very soul. "Perhaps better than you know yourself."

Arthur couldn't tell if that was a threat or not. He glanced sidelong at Elyan, who only shrugged, and at Percival, who said, "They always talk that way."

"You may call me Nesta," said the woman, and led them to an open canopy situated under a large oak tree. The children of the band followed them, staring until Nesta did something to make them go away. Arthur had no idea what; she simply looked up and into the eyes of the nearest child, and then they all turned and left. Like a flock of birds, again.

There was not much room beneath the canopy, and it was mostly taken up by two threadbare cushions. Nesta took one; as Arthur sat on the other, Elyan and Percival took up guard positions outside.

"They have never seen a warrior band of Camelot that was not trying to harm them," she said, and Arthur winced. "Why _have_ you come?"

He was probably wasting their time, and endangering them besides, but he'd come this far. "I seek information on a prophecy that the druids are said to hold. About a sorcerer named Emrys."

Unexpectedly, Nesta smiled, transforming her entire visage into something lovely and motherly. "We know him of whom you speak."

"Is he even real?"

"Oh, yes. We have awaited his coming for centuries, Arthur Pendragon. It is a singular honor, simply to be alive now that he walks among us."

"Why?"

Nesta tilted her head, studying him. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. Arthur frowned, since that wasn't an answer to his question, and she nodded as if reaching a decision. "Because you are asking, I think you are finally ready to hear. Ask what questions you will, and I will answer them to the best of my ability."

Arthur took a deep breath. "What is it that makes Emrys so special?" he asked. "Why are you honored just to be alive at the same time as him?"

"Those are two separate questions," she said, smiling again. "We are honored because we believe that the day will come when no man, woman, or child will live in fear, and it will be because of Emrys and the Once and Future King. Together they will unite Albion and usher in a golden age of peace and prosperity for all. And we now know that that time will come during our lifetimes."

"You are so sure he exists?"

"I have met him, Your Highness. And so have you."

"I don't know what to think about that," said Arthur quietly. "A secret sorcerer. The only bit of prophecy I've been able to find suggested he and the Once and Future King were allies."

"You are more than that," said Nesta. "You are as brothers."

Arthur blinked. "So, I _am_ the king described in the prophecy? Or, I will be?"

"Indeed. We would not have stayed in Camelot were it not for you, young king."

"I am not king yet."

"You will be."

He could almost feel the weight of destiny settling on his shoulders. Or its jaws, perhaps, closing him in. "And I have a sorcerer who follows me about, in secret," he asked in agitation. "Doing what, shaping me? Manipulating me to become the king the druids want?"

"Not at all," Nesta said, leaning forward in her seat. "Emrys is a guide. A friend. He may have helped to shape the man that you have become, but only because you have chosen to listen to his advice." She sat back, but her gaze was still intense. "And he protects you."

"With magic."

"Yes."

Well, Merlin had described how that might be reasonable, at least. Still, "I've always been taught that magic is… dangerous, at best."

"It can be, young king. Magic is life." Nesta gestured to the trees around them. "It is in all living things. Some places, some people have more of it, just as a lake has more water than a forest, or a forest has more trees than a field. And not all life is harmless, as you well know. But magic is like fire, or your sword. It can be used to help or to harm, depending on the one who wields it."

Arthur glanced up to where Percival stood on watch, with his back to them. "It has also been suggested to me that some people gain magic without choosing it, and that it needs to be tamed."

"Ah, I see," said Nesta. "That is correct. Some people have a gift for music, or a talent for, say, farming. Others have a natural tendency to be warriors. Then there are those who have the ability to wield magic."

"I was taught that that gives them a predisposition toward evil."

Nesta shook her head. "Remember, magic is life. And like your own life, young king, magic can be directed by the mind, or the heart. One who has magic, but has never studied it, is at risk of unleashing it in response to strong emotions. They must guard themselves carefully to prevent themselves from lashing out unintentionally. But surely you have known men who were ruled by their emotions, even without magic. Those who would lash out with fists or blade in response to their feelings, rather than controlling themselves and thinking things through."

That… was a more reasonable analogy than Arthur had been expecting. But then, a druid _would_ want magic to seem reasonable and harmless, wouldn't they? Except that Nesta wasn't trying to persuade him that it was.

"What about Emrys? He's supposed to be very powerful."

"Indeed. His magic came upon him in the womb, young king. He was never given a choice as to whether or not to study magic. He has had to guard himself his entire life."

Arthur blinked. "That doesn't seem possible."

Nesta nodded. "Emrys is unique. While magic may come to other people as they grow, only Emrys has ever been born with it. He is vastly powerful; the longer one studies, the more one can do with one's gifts, you see, and Emrys has practiced for his entire life. He hasn't had a choice not to. Emrys's gifts are great indeed… and he uses them to protect you."

"You said we were close," he said skeptically. "Like brothers. That implies a degree of trust, on both sides. How am I supposed to trust someone who has kept such an enormous secret from me?"

"Hmm," said Nesta. "I want you to think of someone you trust."

Arthur raised his eyebrow. "Why?"

"Humor me, young king," she said. "Think of someone whom you trust. Whom you care about, above all others. Someone whose loss would leave a hole in your life that could never be filled."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Arthur wanted it to be one of his knights, but the first person to come to mind was Merlin. Not even Gwen. He loved her, but Merlin was a part of every moment of his life. They were inseparable. Arthur loved his father, too, and his loss would wound Arthur forever, but he couldn't honestly say that he trusted the king anymore, as much as it hurt to admit.

No. It was Merlin.

"Are you thinking of someone?" asked Nesta.

"Yes."

"A friend?"

"Yes."

Nesta nodded, satisfied. "Now, young king, imagine discovering that this friend is Emrys. Imagine him keeping that secret from you. Could you forgive him, if he were revealed?"

The thought of it sent a pain through Arthur's chest. He would have lied to Arthur for years. Could Arthur even say he _knew_ him?

"I don't know," he breathed. "I don't… I don't think I could bring myself to punish him for it. Sorcery is still—but I wouldn't see him executed. I don't know if I could hate him. But—" But it would hurt, and he had no idea how he might be able to regain the trust they'd once shared.

"You are as two sides of the same coin," said Nesta, and Arthur remembered that from the prophecy as well. "Two halves of a whole. I do not think you could truly hate the one who completes you."

"But to have that trust broken," he said.

"Would it be broken? Emrys has saved your life many times. Stood by you through the darkest hours of your life. Sacrificed and suffered for you. Can you truly say you would not do the same for him, even if the hardship you faced were simply knowledge of his true nature?"

Again, Arthur thought of Merlin. Thought of everything Merlin had done for him, and every ridiculous thing he'd done for Merlin in turn. Tried to imagine pushing Merlin away, cutting him out of Arthur's life out of anger or a sense of betrayal.

That sent another pain through Arthur's chest, worse than the first one.

He didn't answer her question, asking instead, "You are certain I know Emrys already?"

"Indeed, Your Highness."

"But you will not tell me who he is." Arthur had no doubt about that.

"We respect his wishes," said Nesta. "We keep this one secret for him, because it is his desire."

"Then how will I know who he is, if he will not reveal himself?"

Nesta smiled again, motherly and kind. "Perhaps you should speak with your friends. Tell them the druids have said that your asking these questions is a sign that you are ready to know the answers." She reached out, greatly daring, and caressed his face. "But I think you already know who he is, in your heart. Your brother in all but blood."

Arthur thought again of Merlin, and did not answer.

* * *

 

The druids, despite their obvious poverty, insisted on showing hospitality to Arthur, Elyan, and Percival, so it was a few hours before they were allowed to leave. (Over half of the people there refused to eat meat; Arthur had no idea how they ever survived the winter. Peaceful the druids might be, but they were still strange.)

"Thank you," Arthur said finally. "For the meal and the answers to my questions."

"You are most welcome. There is much we would give to the Once and Future King."

Arthur wasn't sure how to respond to that, the ponderous destiny uncomfortable for him to contemplate. "Is there anything else you want to tell me before we part ways?" he asked, swinging into the saddle.

"Looking for hints?" Nesta laughed.

"Honestly? Yes."

"Very well, then," she said, and stepped closer. She beckoned Arthur to lean down to hear her. "Consider whom you would _want_ Emrys to be, if you could choose."

Arthur frowned. "Prophecy doesn't work that way, does it?"

"Not exactly," Nesta admitted. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her robe. "But you and he are fated to be together. And as I said, it is likely that your heart already knows the answer to your question. You already know Emrys and are his friend. If you give yourself time to ponder, the answer will reveal itself to you."

* * *

 

He was quiet on the road back to Camelot, and quiet when they camped that night. Percival lit the fire and Elyan tended to the horses, both of them sending concerned glances his way when they thought he wouldn't notice.

Elyan was the one to break first. "Is everything all right, sire?"

"Mm. Just thinking."

Percival chuckled. "Merlin would have something to say about that, if he were here."

Elyan joined in the laughter. "That he would."

Of course, unlike his manservant, his knights actually had enough decorum not to say it aloud, but they were probably all three thinking it: _Be careful not to strain yourself, sire._

"Yes, yes, you're both hilarious."

The two men grinned again, then settled down. "I'm no Merlin," said Elyan, "but if anything is troubling you…"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. Just thinking on what the druids told me."

"What did you discuss, anyway?"

Arthur looked up at them both, confused. "You were both standing right there."

"She must have wanted a private conversation," said Percival. "We heard nothing."

"Mm." Arthur poked at the fire with a stick, considering. "She said that the fact I was asking the questions I was meant I was ready to hear the answers."

"About magic?" Elyan asked.

"Among other things." Arthur stared into the fire a little longer. "About who Emrys is."

"You mentioned that name before, in the tavern," said Percival. "A famous sorcerer, you said?"

"Legendary," said Arthur. "The druids are convinced he exists and is the answer to some of their prophecies." He tossed his stick onto the hot coals. "Prophecies I am part of." He told them the rest of it, without going into too much detail. There was still much he needed to think on.

"You've been tracking him down since we rescued you and Merlin," observed Percival.

"It seems important," said Arthur, feeling a bit lame as he did.

Percival nodded. "Those bandits thought Merlin was a sorcerer."

"They did."

"You can't let a handful of sadistic thugs put suspicions into your head about one of your most loyal men," said Elyan.

"What suspicions, though?" asked Percival. "That he is a powerful ally?"

"That he is an ally whom the law would nevertheless see dead, regardless of what he might have done for Arthur."

Arthur shook his head. "I am not my father," he said, "and I've had cause to see that not all sorcery is evil. The two of you and Gwaine helped with that."

"Yes, but are you seriously considering that a bunch of bandits might be right? About _Merlin_?"

"Bandits? No. Of course not." Except that Nesta had asked him who he _wanted_ this sorcerous ally to be.

* * *

 

"You made it back in one piece," said Merlin, once they were home. He was sitting stiffly at Gaius's work table, one hand on his ribs and the other picking at his dinner.

"You needn't sound so surprised."

Merlin smiled. "How were the druids?"

"Strange," said Arthur, and Merlin's smile grew wider. Of course it did.

"Did you find any answers to your questions?"

Arthur sighed, and sat down across from him. "I'm not sure." Merlin waited him out, and finally he said, "They told me I was finally ready to hear the answers to my questions. I think they're hoping I'll say something where this Emrys person can hear me, and he'll decide to reveal himself."

Merlin popped a piece of fruit into his mouth. "Would that be a bad thing, if he did?"

Arthur shook his head, dragging one hand through his hair. "I don't know. They seem to think I'm ready to know. I'm not so sure I am."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's like you said, isn't it? Whoever this person is, they'll have been lying to me for years, pretending to be my friend—"

"Not pretending," said Merlin. Arthur glared at him for interrupting, but he pressed on. "Just hiding a part of himself. For it to be a friendship, for you and he to have anything like what you described from the prophecies, it'd have to be real. Just… incomplete."

"And how am I supposed to forgive that?" Arthur demanded.

"Maybe, try to see it from his point of view," said Merlin quietly. He had a strange look on his face, not quite meeting Arthur's gaze. "You already know why he would have had to hide his magic. Or at least, you probably know some of it."

Arthur studied him quietly, watching as the silence made Merlin start to fidget. He thought of what Nesta had said, about how Arthur probably already knew who Emrys was, in his heart. How she had asked him whom he might have wanted Emrys to be, if he could pick.

Thought of some of the insights Merlin had given him when they'd talked about it; how Merlin had had any sort of valuable insight in the first place despite being only a servant. How Leon had said that Merlin would be the logical assumption for the bandits to identify as a sorcerer out of anyone in their group. How Merlin had been by his side for years now, getting under Arthur's skin from almost the very beginning, even when they couldn't stand one another.

How Merlin had saved his life practically the day they'd met.

"It's you, isn't it," he said, not really asking, and watched as Merlin froze and grew a little pale. He swallowed hard, Arthur watching his Adam's apple bob up and down. "Those bandits were actually right."

Arthur wasn't sure he actually wanted an answer, but after a moment, Merlin pushed his plate back, still not meeting Arthur's eyes. "I wondered if you might figure it out," he said; his voice shook, and he swallowed again.

Arthur took a deep breath, feeling a bit as if the floor had dropped out from beneath him. "You're really… you're really a sorcerer."

Merlin nodded.

"Those bandits were trying to make you prove it," he said, and Merlin, as always, guessed what he was getting at.

He held out a hand, palm up on the table, glanced up at Arthur, and then back down. He whispered something unintelligible, a long string of syllables in some foreign tongue that made the hair on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end; then a globe shaped itself in Merlin's hand, glowing blue and swirling like fog. It was smaller than the one he remembered, but Arthur recognized it.

"How—you were _poisoned_ , how did you…?"

"I don't know," said Merlin. "A lot of what I do, I just… do. Gaius said I seemed delirious, muttering in my sleep, talking to you as if I could see you. I don't remember."

"You did something that helped me, from miles away, _in your sleep_ , and you don't even—" Arthur stood and stepped away from the table, dragging his hands through his hair again.

"I'm sorry to have upset you," said Merlin, "but I'm not sorry I did it. It helped you, right?" When Arthur nodded, he went on, "I'm not sorry I have magic, Arthur. I'm not. It's as much a part of me as breathing; I couldn't give it up without it killing me, I don't think."

Arthur could believe that; Nesta had said Emrys was born with magic. He shook his head, starting to pace. "I need to think."

"Of course."

"You… no one else is to know of this, do you understand? _No one._ If my father—"

"I understand, Arthur." He chuckled, a little bitterly. "Believe me, I understand."

"Who else does know?"

"Gaius. My mother. Probably a few druids, but they didn't hear it from me. I've never been able to tell anyone, except…"

"Except?"

"It doesn't matter," said Merlin. "They're all dead now."

That did not sound promising, but then Arthur remembered how Nesta claimed Emrys had suffered and sacrificed on Arthur's behalf. He looked over at Merlin to see him staring at the table with faraway, sad eyes.

"You're not scared of what I'll do?"

Merlin looked up then, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Scared? Of you?" Arthur narrowed his eyes, and Merlin sobered. "You'll do what you have to do, I'm sure. But you won't get rid of me, Arthur. You won't be able to, even if you want to. I won't go. You have me till the day I die."

Arthur didn't want to find that reassuring, given that he'd spent days preparing to be betrayed by whomever Emrys turned out to be. "We're supposed to be two sides of the same coin," he said, and Merlin grinned unexpectedly.

"Heh. Yeah. I've heard that too."

"You've hidden a lot from me."

Merlin nodded, sobering again. "I have. And I'm sorry for it. I've wanted to tell you, almost since the beginning." He shrugged a little. "I mean, not since the very beginning. I couldn't stand you at the _very_ beginning."

Arthur couldn't help the little huff of laughter. "And you say _I'm_ the prat."

"I never claimed I wasn't, just that you were worse." Arthur chuckled again, shaking his head, and Merlin smiled tentatively. "So what happens now?"

Arthur sighed. "Like I said: I need to think."

"Will you forgive me? For keeping this from you?"

Arthur sighed again and rolled his eyes, because of course Merlin would ask that. "Probably. But not yet. Everything we talked about, everything you suggested… Merlin, you've lied and hidden this from me for _years_. I feel like I hardly know you. I need time to come to terms with that."

Merlin nodded, looking down at the table again. "That's fair, I suppose." He glanced back up and added, "I'll be here when you're ready. Whenever you want to talk."

"One good thing about your broken ribs, I suppose," said Arthur. "It's not like you can run and hide."

Merlin smirked. "Not yet, anyway."

"Gaius would string both of us up, if you ran and he thought it was my fault."

"He wouldn't string us up. He'd just make us test all his new experimental medicines for a month."

Arthur shuddered. "He _would_."

They shared an amused look, and then Arthur thought of something. "So if you really are the druids' Emrys, and these bandits knew it, why wouldn't you just reveal yourself? You could have saved yourself a lot of…" He gestured, taking in all of Merlin's injuries. "A lot of pain."

Merlin shrugged. "I wasn't sure what they would do to you, if they knew. They might have threatened you to make me do what they wanted. Or just killed you. I couldn't let that happen."

Arthur blinked. "You went through all of that in order to protect _me_?" Days of torture. For him. Arthur had no idea how to feel about that. Boggled, grateful, humbled, angry… a little of all of it.

"It's always to protect you, Arthur, you or Camelot. Everything I've ever done. All of it." He closed his eyes. "Even the mistakes I've made, things I've regretted… I did them for you."

Arthur shook his head again, and took a deep breath. "As I said. I need to think. You… get some rest, or something. And be ready to talk when I come back."

"Of course, sire," said Merlin; and for once, Arthur thought he actually meant it.

* * *

 

_Two men, brothers in all but blood_ _…_

_Two sides of one coin, inseparable_ _…_

_The greatest king ever to live, and the greatest sorcerer of this or any age, allied as one heart, with one goal: peace for Albion, and freedom for her people._

 

Arthur scanned the little scrap of parchment on which he'd copied the prophecy, before tucking it under some papers and shutting it in his desk drawer.

He didn't want to forgive Merlin, but as he'd said, he already had the feeling that he probably would, eventually. The thought of hearing Merlin talk about what he could possibly have done, as a sorcerer, that he might regret, filled Arthur with dread, yet he still couldn't imagine himself hating the other man.

 _I do not think you could truly hate the one who completes you,_ Nesta had said.

Who did Arthur want Emrys to be? Arthur had to admit, if it could have been anyone, he would have picked Merlin. Brothers in all but blood, the prophecy had said. Inseparable. Well, they certainly were that.

He could admit that Merlin had helped make him the person he was today, and he could even grudgingly admit that he didn't resent it. It certainly hadn't seemed as if Merlin were manipulating him.

Maybe… maybe they would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


End file.
